Authentic Lazy Man

Thursday, October 4, 2012

All sober men and women of India, save some
foresighted folks who stocked the barrel before the Gandhi Jyanti, waited
anxiously for the last match between India and South Africa.The advantage of being sober is that you can
lay all your facts into a straight line, and order them correctly. The
excitement in anticipation of the match was, therefore, palpable.

Politician, in between, paid homage to the country’s
sole international hero, by dropping some choicest flowers at Gandhi’s Samadhi
in the morning secretly praying to get rid of this mandatory yearly chore,
while disguising it as prayer for the mankind, and also ensuring that the TV
cameras, and photographers capture their candid pictures in a form which
meticulously conceal their state of mind.

When the clock struck nineteen, everyone glued in
front of the television sets. The match
between Australia and Pakistan had just ended. Pakistan, to their own surprise,
had defeated Australia which while losing ensured their tickets to the
semi-finals, was now sitting pretty and yet a little concerned in the dressing
room for the outcome of this match. Pretty because they had just defeated the
mighty Australians without the sound of match- fixing hovering in the air, and concerned
because they knew that only Indians could outclass them in unpredictability.

South Africa, on the other hand, was out of the
tournament but gleaming in confidence of different kind. The colour of this
confidence bore resemblance to the poem that I had read long ago – one who is
down needs fear no fall. This glowed confidence quickly got transmitted into
the tossing coin. South Africans won the toss convincingly, which remained
their only convincing win in the tournament.
Indian players, on the other side, appeared nervous and clueless trying to
cope up with the hapless situation where they had to play the game while doing
the math, both at the same time. Not a happy state considering when half of
them flunked their math test by a greater margin than their latest defeat to
Australia, while the other half fainted twice before facing the first question.
Oblivion fans who despite being sober, were in full frenzy. People were leaping
up and down in their places in an effort to drown the disquiet that was
creeping inside.

The match started in full gusto.Two players promptly walked into the park
looking up in the heaven as if asking the almighty to convey about their secret
plan. Celebrations of the fans ceased soon after the match started for it was
now clear from the outset that the players’ secret plan was to internalise Gandhi’s
lesson of non-violence on to the field as they refused hitting the ball despite
the opponent kept hurling it down their throats. Rohit Sharma, for instance, entered the ground
with a Gandhi-like composure. His demeanour, however alien to the fray, was no
less than a saint who had taken the opponents blows peacefully without hitting
back, and had only gaped his mouth in appreciation of the challenges presented
before him. When he left, he had already attained the sainthood by
demonstrating the world of his interpretation of Gandhinian prophecy. His
existence on the ground marked the stamp of the camp India, declaring to the
world that how peace loving folks we are, and that we never hit any hostile even
if it’s just an inanimate object such as a cricket ball.

But South Africans, too, had this deep rooted
relation with Gandhi. At first, they might have thrown him from the first class
compartment but later embraced him the way they embraced Mandela. Their claim
of Mohan Das becoming a Gandhi is not a secret, similar to the tale of
Siddhartha becoming a Buddha in our own land. That’s history, of course, but
history has this uncanny knack of repeating itself.

Playing true to the history, South African first
forcefully rejected the Gandhian approach. Du Plessis, especially, was adamant
to abide the lessons which Indians so kindly presented, perhaps also because
formerly he was not the part of his own team, and therefore was unfamiliar to its generous
policies.

After the downfall of Du Plessis, who before exiting
ensured that the Indian pain became agony, South African soon realised their
mistake of not abiding by the non-violence approach quickly rectified them one
by one. However late, they ensured that they lose and which they did by one
run, and kept the Indian tradition of Bazigaari (one who wins even after
losing) intact.

Thus the match despite its significance was lost by
both sides. Both teams tried hard to abide by the Gandhian principle but sadly lost.
Perhaps, the Gandhi’s message was somewhere lost in translation. And while
people feverishly debate over the relevance of Gandhi in today’s society, I sit
back and wonder if indeed this was how Gandhi would have played his Cricket.

Saturday, August 7, 2010

One of the most powerful, and haunting films that I have seen this year. The film was powerful because it was real—Damn REAL! And, the sheer tenderness of death made it haunting—much more haunting than any other gory films that I have seen before. I am not a religious man, and I have no religious sentiments to be against Euthanasia. Perhaps in that situation, I would have done the same thing. Yet, I was somewhat uncomfortable watching the film. Nevertheless, the whole experience was quite uplifting.

You can watch the last ten minutes of this film here.

DISCLAIMER: There's no brutality but still this video's about death. A real death!

Thursday, June 24, 2010

Does sex education make humans unique? I think it does. And, I am quite positive that no other species other than humans need it. At least, nobody till now has come up with such a study yet. This in itself contradicts the theory that humans have the most developed brains. Come on, if it’s the most developed of all brains why on earth would it need education? Surely, there are many skill-sets that we need to acquire for which education is required. But for god sake sex is the most primitive knowledge that every species including humans are born with it.

There’s a debate worldwide whether sex education should be in the regular curriculum of all schools and colleges. I’m sure, most of the modern- thinking, forward-looking educated liberals are for it. Strangely, I find this silly. No, this isn’t some kind of gimmick to catch eyeballs or just to make myself sound funny. Mind you, there’s a thin line between being funny and being silly. Oftentimes, being funny ends up in being silly. But reverse is not true. Anyhow, since now I have explained this I can tread on both lines without any guilt. So, that’s that.
On a serious note, let me explain you why I have said what I have said. People say: sex is both an art and a science. I agree with that, and am sure you will too. But here’s the catch which I would like to explain one by one.

Sex as an art:

If sex is an art then it requires extensive practise just like any other art subjects require. Say for instance, if you’re a writer you require writing extensively. If you’re painter, you need to paint so on and so forth. Quite frankly, no school or colleges where sex education is imparted advocate practice of sex in order to master it. On the contrary, they advocate abstinence to the students. So, why the heck are they teaching something which they themselves don’t want their students to practice? Give me a brake...err...Break!

Now, the science part:

If sex is a science it requires practical, just like other science subjects like physics, chemistry, or biology. Similar to other science subjects this too requires a laboratory where student can cum err...come and perform their practical. All the theories they learn from the text books can actually be applied there. Say for instance, condom,—by the way I feel condoms are the single most important invention for humankind in the last 2000 years— students must know how to use it, when to use it, where to use it, etc. Strangely, no laboratory has ever been designed or even thought about. Leave alone India, not even in America—Oh, by the way I love America, God Bless America!

I’m sure some detractors will say it’s for the betterment of the masses, for the people who are in villages, poor, uneducated and thereabouts. For them, I would say: Get real man. Who’re we kidding? Youngsters in urban or even semi-urban areas know all about these stuff—what you teach in sex education— even before they reach their puberty. In rural, remote areas they don’t get education anyhow, forget about sex education. So better take a chill-pill.

Nah, we don’t need such half baked education. Humans just like other species have survived without it, and can continue surviving without it. AIDS or NO AIDS.

This Pink Floyd song ringing in the background seems perfect for the occasion:

We don’t need no education...
We don’t need no thought control...
Hey! Teacher! leave the kids alone...
All in all you’re just another brick in the wall.

Wednesday, June 23, 2010

I find writer’s job not only to be lonely, but also to be of a loser. Let’s face it storyteller’s romantic art serves no real purpose in life. They don’t save our lives like doctors do or build bridges like engineers. Yet, nothing gives me a greater pleasure than a well told story. It’s only because of these great writers and their stories that I’m still alive. Those carefully laid words to form a beautiful story motivate me to carry on, and just give me a hope, a hope against hope that there’s a better tomorrow, not just for me but for everybody. Take stories out of my life, and what I am left with is empty and meaningless dates and events.

I have said this before, and I say this again: I’m a madman. People often ask me why you are what you are, and I always plea my temporary insanity to perpetuity to them. But that’s another story. Surely, what you have noticed is how often I fumble and lose track of what I intend to say, and which certainly isn’t the right way to tell stories. A lousy storyteller would go round and round in circles, often go off at a tangent, miss the important facts or take forever to say some facts. Either such stories abruptly, or take forever to end. A bad story will always stifle a yawn, and smells boring from miles away.

It’s not always easy to locate lessons from a story. However, a good story always gives you a reason to ponder, to think over it. And to create a good story, tone is of prime importance. Get the tone right, and you get the story right. Turn this around, and the whole story becomes false even if it’s factually correct. A true story is not a chronology, that’s work of History.

When we’re child we all used to listen to the stories from our grandparents and parents. Remember, how our grandparents would cite great stories of their times and imply its relevance upon us. Every inch of knowledge we gain from them was nothing but some boring redundant facts carved into a story. As we grow up we found those stories to be naive. But the fact remains that we need stories as much as we need it in our childhood.

We live on hopes, on tomorrows. The reason why it’s said that the world is for young people is perhaps because young people have more tomorrows stacked up than old people. As we grow old, piles of yesterdays outnumber our tomorrows. And, suddenly somehow we are entitled to tell embarrassing stories of our yesterdays. In that sense, our whole experience is actually nothing but our capacity to tell stories.Good, bad or ugly, again, is another story.

The old cliché goes: life’s is stranger than fiction. My word it is. There’s no greater fiction than life itself. May be why the stories that interest me are the stories of life, dreams, loneliness, love, fear, and thereabouts. And these stories that I believe in are more real to me than my life itself. And, that’s what in the story.